Letters
by sherlockedangels
Summary: It's Christmas Eve post-Reichenbach Fall and John comes home to 221B to find Sherlock doing something he's never seen him do.


John steps into the flat, the harsh wind blowing behind him as he quickly shuts the door to stop the blistering cold and snow from slipping inside. He regrettably slips off his leather shoes, his feet now freezing. Starting to pull off his coat, he realises he'd rather keep it on, the warmth inside was too comforting to ignore. He stomps his way up the stairs to the main room, running his hands up and down his arms, trying to keep warm. Taking a deep breath in, John faintly smelled something he wasn't used to coming home to. It was a good smell, minty and welcoming mixed with a richness, enveloping him so much that he followed it all the way towards the flat's small kitchen, where he found Sherlock standing by the oven... cooking?

This was quite a surprise to John; he'd known the intellectual for years now, yet he never once saw him make anything. This only made John wonder, _what made today so different that Sherlock would be bothered to cook?_

The scent was strong now, captivating John into a trance-like state.

"Oh good, you're home."

"I-I'm sorry?" John stammered, snapping back to his senses.

"I said, 'Oh good, you're home,'" Sherlock replied, mimicking himself perfectly.

"Yes I am.." muttered John, his voice trailing off. "Say, is that my peppermint tea you're making?"

"Yes, it is your favourite isn't it?"

"Well yes.. what else did you make, I smell something else." John asked.

"Think, John. What can you deduce?" Sherlock replied imploringly.

John took in a deep breath, trying to decipher what he could of the other comforting scent.

"It smells.. very rich."

"Good.." Said Sherlock, obviously wanting more out of him.

_Did everything have to be a game with him? _John thought. _For once, couldn't he just tell me?_

John completely inhaled again, trying even harder to make out the smell.

"Something chocolatey, have you made biscuits?"

Before Sherlock could answer, the oven beeped and he grabbed the oven mitt that was waiting on the counter. Pulling it on, Sherlock opened the door to the oven, letting the aroma and heat pour out. Being careful not to burn himself, he grabbed the tray, removing it from the oven to reveal a dozen chocolate chip biscuits, all perfectly proportionate to one another.

"Good deduction," praised Sherlock, as he proudly smiled partly at John and partially at his own creations.

Sherlock carefully slid the sweets onto two plates, saving the best looking ones for John. While balancing the two plates and the cups of tea, he clutched onto John's arm, playfully leading him into the living area and showing him to his chair while sitting in his own. Sherlock handed John one of the small plates and cups of tea, which were both now billowing with steam. John graciously took them, still in awe of everything that has taken place since his arrival. He managed to get his thoughts together and questioned, "So.. what's all this for? I don't think I've ever seen you in the kitchen, except for examining your newest experiments in our refrigerator."

"You really don't know what today is? I thought you of all people would know, being so in love with sentimental traditions and all."

This made John stop to think, _what on earth has he forgotten? It.. couldn't be.._

"Is it Christmas Eve?" asked John, genuinely unaware.

"Honestly, John, you didn't know? Well either way, I didn't just make you your favourites. I got you something as well. Here." Sherlock said pulling a beautifully wrapped present with a bow from underneath his chair and gently passing it onto John's lap.

"Sherlock, you really shouldn't have, I didn't get you anything.."

"That's quite fine. Really, John, there's nothing you could've bought me that I want, anyway." Sherlock said truthfully, looking straight at John.

So, hesitantly, John unwrapped his gift, revealing a pale coloured jumper with an intricate pattern. He lifted it from the remains of the lustrous paper, seeing the size was perfect. John just sat, speechless. _Sherlock Holmes cared enough to get me a present for Christmas? And not only that, but he thought of something that I quite like and will use, rather than what he'd want._

"Do you like it? I based my choice on your other clothes to determine what you like and also took into consideration what you don't already have."

"I.. of course I do. I just feel terrible. I haven't gotten anything for you. Well.. there is something I did while you were.. gone for two years." John got quietly up from his chair and went off to his bedroom. He returned with a large stack of paper, black pen in John's handwriting visible from the top. "I sort of.. Well I wrote you letters while I thought you were dead and I know that's dumb and you don't have to read them, I just thought you might like them, seeing as they're technically for you anyway. Here, I'll just put them back in my room, I knew it was a stupid idea, giving something sentimental, especially for someone like y-"

While John was rambling nervously, Sherlock stood up, and right as John was turning away to return the letters to his room, Sherlock took the papers from John's hands, causing John to stop in his tracks.

"If you've taken the time to write these to me, I'm going to read them. Now.." said Sherlock, sitting back into his armchair and reading the top letter out loud, which was dated 6 months after the incident on St. Bart's hospital.

_Dear Sherlock Holmes,_

_It's been just 6 months since that day, but it feels much longer. The days have all sort of moulded together, going back to my ordinary life. I had forgotten how lonely this life was. There were so many days living with you that I wished I'd never met you, but now I realise how you've improved my life so much. I was so alone, Sherlock.. and I owe you so much. Believe it or not, you've even helped me learn and grow. I now know what.. true friendship is. Well.. was. I really just can't believe.. it's over. The crime solving, the blogging, the bickering, even you not talking for days on end. I miss it all.. I.. I miss you. I never thought I'd say that, but I miss Sherlock Holmes. I don't even know why I'm writing this, but you know Sherlock, I'm waiting. I'm waiting for you to stop being.. dead. I'm still waiting and I always will be. I just can't believe that I've.. lost my- my best frien-_

Sherlock's voice broke as he was reading. John could see his eyes filled with tears, that he quickly blinked away. John was astounded, _Sherlock, showing emotion?_

Sherlock coughed, cleared his voice, and quickly continued reciting the letter, pretending nothing had happened.

_...best friend. And you know something? I will never forgive Jim Moriarty. I'm not sure I'll ever forgive you either. You acted so selfishly, so irrationally. You never think of anyone but yourself or how something will affect anyone else. You just.. left me. I don't care your reason, or that it was necessary. There's no excuse that I'd ever accept as a liable reason for what you did. Nothing is explanation enough for me. And I wish you would just stop.. stop being dead. No one will ever convince me you told me a lie. The Sherlock Holmes I know.. and love.. could not be a fraud. You just.. couldn't. I'll always believe in you, I'll always care about you, and you'll always be my best friend. Forever._

_Signed,_

_Your best friend,_

_John Watson_

Sherlock managed to get out the last words before he became speechless, feeling a lump in his throat. He looked up at John standing over him with a silent, single tear streaming down his face. He wiped it away, trying to hide his emotions, but Sherlock saw right through. Sherlock stood up, set the handwritten letters on the side table, and moved towards his best friend. Putting his arms around him in a warm hug, he whispered "Thank you." into his ear.

John lifted his arms and embraced back, tightly, not letting go. John replied, "No, thank you, Sherlock. Thank you for.. coming back. Those two years were the longest I've ever lived."

Sherlock chuckled and returned, "I know, it must've been hell without me. I mean, what did you do all day?"

John finally let go of the lingering hug and joked, "Hey, you know, maybe it wasn't that bad after all. Maybe I'd like to go back to it.."

They both laughed, picking up their plates of biscuits & mugs of tea and moving to the couch to sit together under a cozy, soft blanket. The pair cuddled up next to one another, perhaps for warmth or maybe just so they could be close to each other. And finally, everything was back to the way it was before.


End file.
